Mags The Eleventh Victor
by Ocean Eyed Redhead
Summary: The story of Mag's games. Canon. Will be feature length if given enough support. Please R and R! Mags volunteered you to.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

" _Ladies first!" says Mardy Rollo, his talon like nails dipping into the glass bowl of female names. "Mags Flanagan!"_

And I'm awake. My fingertips stroke the soft fabric of the mattress to reassure me that I am at home. Not at the Reaping. Not yet. That comes later. I lay on my side, staring out the second story window of our shell cottage at the water out back. It's still. No waves. Not even a ripple.

It's been the same nightmare for the past week. My name being drawn for the eleventh Hunger Games. Just two years and three months and I'll be too old to be reaped. Something unsettled within me says that that doesn't matter. That today I will be reaped. Plucked from the arms of my mother and father and older brother. Thrown into the Arena.

I'm not necessarily a hopeless case. My odds are, to be honest, fifty-fifty. I'm handy with knives, nets and not too bad with a trident. Everyone knows this. My family's shop sells the most fish of anyone in District Four. Perhaps it's how the shop resembles a homey shed that we are so popular. Maybe it's the fact that it is family run. My theory is that it reminds people of over a decade ago. Before the Hunger Games had started. Before the Dark Days had begun.

Over the years, districts have been rising from poverty one by one. Districts One and Two recovered less than two months after The Rebellion had failed. Three only one year after that. It seemed the more Victors from the District, the more positive progress was made.

District One has conquered Games one, two, three and six. District Two has won four and nine. District Three took the fifth and eighth. District Four has taken the seventh and the tenth. Since District One's third victory they've had volunteers for Tributes left and right. The fad is catching on slowly with Districts Two and Three. I've heard rumors that District Five is orchestrating a plan for volunteers to gain more sponsors for the Games.

It seems like beyond District Six, it's hopeless.

I clamber out of bed, the first one awake, as usual. I don't bother changing out of my tank top and shorts. I can't wear anything I like today. Just the one outfit. The sea-foam green dress with the white sweater and flats.

I creep down the hall past Hook's room. His snores can be heard from outside the door. Twenty year old bastard sleeps soundly knowing that he can't be reaped, though I'm sure he'll be gravely concerned for me the rest of the day when he wakes up.

My parent's room is silent. They were up late last night making the shop spotless in case the Peacekeepers decided to do a random inspection. They did two years ago and it shut down the Marx's Shellfish shop. I offered to help but they insisted that Hook and I rest. That we had done enough by fishing out the whole bay together.

It isn't a chore to do that. Not to me. Standing knee deep in the water, watching vigilantly for the shimmer of fish's scales beneath me with my brother is one of my favorite parts of the day. We'll talk and laugh and occasionally push each other in. Make bets on who will catch the most fish, etcetera. Sometimes I'll sit on the shore and just watch him, weaving one of my famous baskets my parents insist we sell in our store.

The stairs creak just slightly as I descend into the living room, walking straight to the kitchen. I grab four coffee mugs from hooks above the sink and begin to boil water on the stovetop in a pot. Mindlessly I grab the most caffeinated tea bags and place a bag in each cup. It's a morning ritual that comes easily to me always being the first one awake.

Then it's time to make the eggs.

Within a half hour, breakfast is made for everyone.

Eggs and biscuits with the crab from last night's dinner on the side.

"Mom wants the shop open today."

I jump as I set down the plate of eggs and look over my shoulder to see my brother. He's over six feet tall with my family's signature light bronze hair and the District Four blue-green eyes. He smiles at my startled reaction and crosses to the stove, picking up the steaming mugs of tea.

"How you feeling, kid?" he asks, walking to the dark wood table and setting the cups down by the plates.

I shrug in response, taking a seat.

"As well as I can be, Hook."

He sits down slowly, across from me. I can feel his stare as I pretend to busy myself by cutting eggs with my fork.

"So mom wants us open today? When did she tell you that?" I clarify.

I should have been told this too. I'm just as much part of the business as Hook is. I can tell my expression shows my frustration by the amused smile on Hook's face.

"Calm down, Mags. She just decided ten minutes ago when she woke me," he chuckles. "Besides, she doesn't want us working. Says we should take it easy today. Probably afraid Peacekeepers will ask for age authentication for me if I say I'm twenty and then a Rigged Reap. We can thank Allan for that."

Allan Gribbs lied two years ago and told the Peacekeepers he was nineteen to prevent being reaped. After research that was available at their fingertips they discovered he was only seventeen and he was coincidentally reaped. He lost the Games. A lot of us theorized it was punishment for his lie. Ever since we have referred to anyone who has the slightest transgression against the Capitol having their name drawn as a Rigged Reap. We think there has been at least two.

"I want to work too," I mumble, sipping my tea.

"I'm not stopping you. Just tell Mom you want to keep your mind off the Reaping or something like that."

I raise my brows and nod in response. Not a bad plan.

"You owe me an excuse token for that, Mags," he says pointedly.

We've always been good at fabricating elaborate emotional excuses to get out of tasks our parents assign. Hook and I agree to trade them. He owes me one excuse token-zero now-and I now owe him two.

"Fair enough," I agree, shaking his hand across the table.

"Good-morning," a cheerful voice says.

My mother floats down the stairs, looking like some sort of princess. Her long, black ringlets flow about her face and her icy blue eyes are bright…they're also red. She's been crying. Mom does every year on Reaping Day. My Dad appears behind her, his eyes are mindful as he watches my mother sit down at the table. I look over at him with an inquisitive brow.

Running his hand through his greying hair, he nods at me to signal that mom is fine. She tends to have these emotional outbursts of anxiety that result in hysterical sobbing and shortness of breath.

"Mom, I'd like to work in the store today," I say bluntly.

She looks up from her plate with furrowed brows.

"I don't know, Mags-"

"Mom, please. I don't want to spend my whole day just thinking about the Reaping."

My mom looks to my father. I glance at Hook out of the corner of my eye. He is gnawing on his lower lip, eager to see if his excuse token was worth anything. My dad's eyes narrow as he considers the prospect of me working.

"You could use an extra pair of hands on a day with Peacekeepers. I know it. What if they decide to inspect? You'll get swamped accompanying them with no one to cover-"

"Yeah, Sandie, let her work," my Dad resolves.

My Mother's brows knit together further and she sighs.

"Alright, just…just please watch your mouth if you get a Peacekeeper."

"Watch my mouth?" I ask, slightly incredulous.

My Dad takes a seat, drawing in a breath as though bracing himself for an exhausting task.

"You have a tendency to be a bit…sassy with customers that you don't exactly…favor…" my Mom says hesitantly.

I feel slightly defensive, but manage to calm myself all the same.

"Sassy? When have I been 'sassy?'"

My brother snorts, laughing as he swallow some of his breakfast. I cast a glare at him.

"What?" I snap.

"Oh, c'mon, Mags. Remember Boyle?" questions Hook.

"He called our fish 'sub-par.' We were giving him a deal! It was rude!"

"And how about Mossy?"

"Mossy is a spoiled, little girl who has no idea what she's talking about when it comes to net weaving. She has no right to criticize my work," I snap.

"And the poor Odair boy?" inquires my Father.

My eyes flicker over to him and I feel a blush paint my cheeks.

"Tucker Odair is as arrogant as they come and made me uncomfortable."

"He winked at you, Mags!" my brother laughs.

"Inappropriate. That's all I have to say about that," I reply. "Besides, I'll be very polite, Mom. I'm a completely different person around Peacekeepers. Everyone is."

I stand with my half empty plate and walk to the sink, scraping the contents of my leftover breakfast into the garbage.

"I'll even curtsy for them if you like," I add.

After placing my dishes in the sink I turn around to see my parents staring at me, wide eyed. My brother is still snickering, eating his breakfast. To break the tension I do a sarcastic curtsy for them with a fake smile.

"We're doomed," my dad says flatly.

I laugh as my mother swats his shoulder.

"Did you see that sad excuse for a curtsy, Sandie? We're doomed!" he insists.

My father succeeds in his covert mission to cheer my Mom up. She laughs quietly and starts at her breakfast.

"If you're going to open up the shop then you'd better get into your Reaping Clothes, Mags. The keys are on your Father's nightstand."

My unruly, wavy hair refuses to stay pinned down at the sides so instead I throw it into a loose bun at the side nape of my neck. There's one, small, rope braid tucked into it. Something a lot of District Four girls wear to show pride for our netting skills.

The shoes are a bit big. They always have been. They're my mother's and she insists that they're lucky. Maybe she's right. Since I was old enough to be reaped I've worn these shoes and my name hasn't been drawn. Today it's in there a little over thirteen times, which is rather miniscule.

However, I feel a tugging inside of me that says I'm still in danger.

I don't want to accept it yet. I tell myself that I always worry like this. I don't though. Deep down I know I have never had such an ominous feeling before.

Leaving our house I am surprised at the lack of conversation I encounter with my family. Hook just gives my shoulder a squeeze and my parents wash the morning dishes, still in their pajamas.

If they aren't worried, why should I be? Mom, the worrier of all worriers isn't concerned.

I'll add that to list of things I need to remind myself of while I try to maneuver through these next few hours.

The shop is just next door, as I unlock the door there's a loud 'whirring' and the wind begins to blow the trees. I know the source. I can't help but look skyward as the large, silver hovercraft zooms over the water causing large ripples that will send the fish into a frantic swim away from the shore. A light breeze shuffles over the almost vacant streets. Everyone out and about owns a shop.

A woman exits her bakery across the road and begins to hurriedly sweep some leaves off of her porch. I yawn and enter our shop, flipping on the lights. One of the light blue walls are lined with nets made by Mother and Hook. My Father and I have our own wall of tackle we've crafted. Each one colorful and unique.

Then my baskets decorating the entire east side of the shop. They vary in size and shades of brown. Surprisingly popular among the citizens of District Four.

I unlock the ice box latch and open the lid. Inside a stack of fix lay covered in wax paper and frost. All ready to be sold. Possibly to Peacekeepers. Hopefully to them.

' _DING!'_

My head whips around to identify the person who has walked through the door. Peacekeeper? Family? Friend? Random customer? It better not to be Odair.

Amdra Damslay.

Oh, hell. She's in there almost thirty times today. It's her final reaping.

"Hey, Amdra. Uh…you want the five fish and net?" I ask, tying an apron from beneath the register around my waist.

"Yeah, thanks. Just bag them up for me."

I nod and try to avoid looking at her. For some reason I can't help but feel a bit sorry for her. A bit worried even. I know it'll show on my face if I look at her. I open the ice locker and remove the five fish, taking them to the slab on the front counter to wrap up.

"Worried for me?" her rich voice says.

She's always had a talent for sounding years older than she is. Looking it too. Her high cheekbones and constantly set brows give her a look of resolution that only adults seem to carry.

I look up at her, trying to seem perplexed. Obviously, I'm not convincing enough judging by the slight smirk that appears on her face. She runs a hand through her sleek hair and laughs quietly.

"They say I'm in there more than any other girl. I'm probably going to get drawn. Just one year off from being out of this mess," she says gruffly.

I finish wrapping up the fish and smile wryly at her, grabbing a net off the wall behind me. I begin folding it. I don't know what to say.

"Guess taking out tesserae and selling it didn't do me much good in the end? What good is extra money if you're dead?"

"Someone could volunteer for you," I try hopefully, bagging up her purchase.

She snorts sarcastically and removes some money from the pocket of her dress, shaking her head. I accept the currency and do my best not to frown at Amdra.

"Everyone knows District Four girls don't volunteer. When have one of us won? The only reason the boys volunteer is because there's only been one female victor and she was from One. No girl will be volunteering any time soon."

I want to tell her about the feeling I've had in the pit of my stomach like I would be drawn. However, her mind is set that it's going to be her, just as it is set in mine that it will be me.

Add that to list of things to comfort me. I'm obviously not the only one with this ominous feeling.

' _DING!'_

Amdra turns around and we both stand up straighter. Two Peacekeepers walk through the door. Their white masks are removed and guns are hanging from their hips. I hastily hand Amdra her change. She takes her change from my palm, gives me a nod of reassurance and exits the store keeping a wide birth between her and the Peacekeepers. They are chuckling with one another which I take as a good sign. This no longer seems like an inspection. Still, I'm wary.

I plaster a smile on my face.

"Hi. Welcome to Flanagan Fish and Supplies. How can I-"

"No fish. We've got a long journey. We just need something for the wives," one of them interrupts.

He's tall with a heavy amount of stubble. I'm not intimidated, just anxious. The other one is stocky with beady eyes. I don't quite appreciate him interrupting me, still I bite my tongue. Just like my mom has asked. I continue to smile at him.

"I…We have tackle. Very colorful. Each one is handmade and one of a kind. I-"

"Tackle?"

"I told you we should have gone to the jewelry shop instead, Brock," murmurs the one with stubble.

"Adelaide hates jewelry. She wants something different," Brock whispers.

"Nets. District Four is known for its nets and my mother and brother make them every week. They're good for storage, laundry-"

"What about those?" Brock says pointing to my wall of baskets.

I glance at them, my lips pursing. I was hoping not to draw attention to those. I don't want any attention posed at me in any way. Not from Peacekeepers. Still. If selling one of my baskets gets them out of here…

"Those are our signature baskets. Very affordable," I nod.

Brock and his partner raise their brows, both are smiling a bit. I decide to push them further.

"They're waterproof. If you put them in water, they'll float. Our Mayor's wife buys the small ones to hold her drink in the water while she's in her pool."

They pause and walk over to the wall. Both of them eyeing the baskets. I inhale through my nose trying to decipher what they are murmuring. Brock looks over his shoulder at me.

"Does your mom make these?" he asks.

"No, I do," I blurt.

" _You_ do? A child?"

I fight off a sneer and sigh, maintaining a composed expression with a complacent smile. His partner scoffs lightly and removes a basket. He flicks its base. His lips turn down at the sides in approval. He tosses it lightly to Brock.

"It's sturdy. She's not lying."

Brock grabs two more and sets them on the counter in front of me. I continue to smile at him politely. He looks down his nose at me, while his partner waits by the door. I eye the baskets, pricing them.

"That's fifteen," I say.

He looks a little impressed. It's true. I lowered the price. It's the smartest thing I can think of to safeguard our store from inspection and possibly to make up for any unappreciated facial expressions I made.

"Fifteen? That's pretty cheap," he remarks, watching me place the baskets in a bag.

"It's Reaping Day. Flanagan's always give a discount for Reaping Day. And always to Peacekeepers," I add.

"Always? Really?"

It isn't a lie.

"Really. Anytime you come here there's a discount. You're our protectors, it's the least we can do."

He nods, passing over his money as I trade with him the bag.

"Have a good day," I grin.

' _DING!'_

"Mom made me bring you a biscuit. She's convinced you didn't eat enough…" Hook trails off as the two Peacekeepers eye him.

I hold my breath. Hook tries to nonchalantly join me behind the counter but the eyes of the Peacekeepers are on him. Are they going to question him? Are they going to do an inspection? I hope they are pleased enough with baskets that they will leave us with this warning look and be done with it. Sure enough, they offer a hand of gratitude and exit our store. As soon as the door closes Hook and I sigh loudly in relief.

"The power of baskets," I snicker.

"That's all they took? Baskets?"

"I make good baskets," I defend.

"And you must have kept your sassy mouth shut."

"I do not have a sassy mouth!"

We continue on this way for a few hours until my parents appear and make us leave. Hook and I stand in the water outback for a while, careful to keep our clothes from getting wet. We are both silent but both thinking about the same thing, though the circumstances are different for each of us. Eventually Hook squeezes my hand, obviously not wanting to verbally express his concern for me.

"Amdra is in there more than any other girl, you know," he says softly.

"Yeah, I talked to her this morning."

"So you've got nothing to worry about, Mags," murmurs Hook.

I nod vigorously.

Though I'm not really sure.

By one o'clock everyone has closed up shop, got dolled up and is heading for the town square. Most everyone looks gloomy with the exception of the handful that attended the Academy of Training and Preparedness for the Games this year. It's essentially mandatory for Districts One through Three, though with Four's recent success we have been invited to join them. Some speculate that with a few more victors they'll be making the Academy mandatory for us too.

"Alright, dear, we'll see you soon," my mother whispers, embracing me.

Her eyes water slightly and I peck her cheek with a reassuring smile.

"You'll be fine, Mags. Love you," says my dad giving me a gruff kiss on the head.

Hook grabs my shoulder and shakes it reassuringly. He bends his knees so that we are eye level.

"Hang in there, kid. Just two more of these and you're done with this bull sh-"

"Hook," my mom scolds.

My brother rolls his eyes and squeezes me briefly. I set off towards the line of anxious looking kids and hold my breath, awaiting my turn.

I check in with the Capitol officials dressed in an eye-burning white and gold. They prick our fingers, verify our identities with their expensive gadgets and send us to be sorted into rows by age. We're not quite packed like sardines, but the distances between each of us in uncomfortable.

I look over my shoulder to try and spot my family but they are blocked by rows and rows of spectators. Each one more nervous looking than the last. Across the way stand the boys. They all look somewhat impatient. Ready for this to be over…or ready for it to begin.

' _Thump! Thump! Thump!'_

All eyes are forward.

There he is.

Mardy Rollo. District Four's escort. Projected on the jumbo-tron above the stage. The stage normally set for entertainment and merriment, now a pedestal for death and brutality. His brown eyes are rimmed with shimmering, blue liner are filled with an almost artificial excitement. Everyone applauds dully and he offers a hand to acknowledge our existence.

How generous.

"Welcome to the Reaping of the Eleventh Annual Hunger Games," he says in an overly enthusiastic tone.

My God, he is so sickeningly cheerful I feel the need to slap him.

"And now we have a special film from the Capitol!" announces Mardy.

' _War…Terrible War…'_

The film begins. I can remember back to two years ago at Hook's last Reaping where I watched him roll his eyes and mouth every single word. The eighteen year olds beside him had to fight off snickers. Then ten minutes later he was done with the Hunger Games. Safe from their wrath forever.

' _This is how we safeguard our future…'_

"A wonderful reminder of the mercy of our leaders," Mardy says solemnly, looking right into the camera lens so it's like he is staring at me.

I can't help but sigh in irritation and purse my lips. Then my chest tightens. Mardy struts over to the glass bowl of girl names, his silvery suit shining like metal and microphone in hand.

"Ladies first."

I watch his hand dip into the bowl and his manicured fingers brush over the tiny slips of paper.

It looks just like my nightmare.

I turn my head to see Amdra. She stands with her head high, eyes wet with tears. She honestly believes that it's her. The girl next to me inhales so loudly I jump. I look back to the stage just in time to see Mardy remove a piece of paper. My heart beats fast and there's a burning my stomach that makes me want to vomit.

In one hand he holds the microphone, in the other the paper. His eyes narrow on it. I watch the jumbo-tron with bated breath.

"And the female tribute from District Four is…" he says with a sly smile. "Mags Flanagan."

Me. It's me.

*I plan on making each one pretty long so don't expect a new one every day, but with the proper amount of support, I swear to have one at least every week. I plan on making a story of her entire Hunger Games. Almost feature length.*


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

When I was six years old, Hook taught me how to swim properly. I was always able to dog paddle, but what I really wanted was to swim through the waves. Something my parents forbade me from doing. They were worried about rip currents pulling me under. However, Hook knew how and insisted on teaching me.

We started with shallow waves that would normally knock me back a few inches or I could hop over. Hook taught me how to dive into those head first and emerge on the other side with grace. I managed to accomplish this with a small semblance of poise. We practiced for a week. I became impatient and insisted we try bigger waves.

A storm came that very night. Malicious and ready to strike. The waves were large and rough. I was ready to test my skills. Hook said no. My parents said no. That I wasn't ready yet. We would get there eventually. Eventually was not soon enough for me.

That night, after everyone had slept and the rain had passed leaving only large waves, I snuck out of the house to the beach in the backyard.

The waves seemed particularly imposing. Especially without Hook by my side. It all suddenly seemed like a bad idea. I remember feeling a chill. A sort of warning that this was too dangerous. Yet, I pushed it away and ran straight into the water. I started with a smaller wave, readying myself to swim out to the bigger ones. However, that little wave, that unexpected one was the wave my body had warned me about. The chill I had been experiencing that I pushed to the back of my mind was all about this wave.

I dove headfirst into the wave and found myself caught in the rip current.

I opened my eyes. All I could see was black. I could only hear the sound of rushing water and bubbles in my ears. My body was thrown about and I waved my arms frantically trying to reach the surface. Not that I had any idea of what was up and what was down. At one point I touched sand and realized I was at the bottom of the water, not the top.

I could feel the water getting deeper and deeper. No matter how hard I kicked I only seemed to be pulled farther out. My lungs were burning. I was running out of air.

Then I remembered what Hook taught me about rip currents. Not to swim against them. To let them carry me and when I felt it loosen up, swim to the top. I relaxed my limbs and let the wave move me. I worried desperately about how far out I would be taken. About if I could make it back or when I would come up. It was impossible to ignore the fact that I was quickly, running out of air.

Eventually, right as my head started to pound from lack of oxygen, I felt the current loosen its hold on me and was able to kick my way to the top. I couldn't feel the sand beneath my toes, but I managed to keep myself afloat and take in a loud lung full of air. I remember my head whipping in every direction I was looking for the light of our back porch. I finally found it just as I was hit by another monstrous wave.

I let it carry me.

I still don't know how long it took me to get back to shore. I just remember coming up for air briefly and forcing my body not to kick and wave against the water. I had to wait for the wave to subside and then push myself, little by little the whole way.

The second my feet were flat on the sand I ran towards shore. My legs turned to jelly and I fell into the sand. It stuck to my face and I immediately fell asleep.

It was still dark when I woke up in Hook's arms. We were knee deep in the water and he washing sand off my body. I was shaking. Not crying. Just shaking. He gently soothed me then carried me inside. To this day, my parents still don't know about the night I snuck out. There was a salty taste in my mouth for days and even now I feel guilty for my actions. I find myself thinking back to being caught in the current at least once a week.

That's what it feels like now.

My name has been called and I'm frozen. Nothing I can do to make myself move. I try not to look completely shocked and surprised. I really have no idea what I look like right now. Am I frowning? Is my mouth wide open.

Just like that night I had suppressed the feeling something bad was about to happen. I didn't heed the warning, and now I am unprepared. I can't really hear much but I can see Mardy peering out into the crowd to see me.

' _Let the wave carry you,'_ I tell myself.

So I scoot out of the row of girls my age and follow the rhythms of being drawn. I try to become aware. Control my face. I notice that my jaw was dropped, so I quickly close it. I notice that my eyes are wide, so I relax them. Instead of gawking, I manage to put on a smile. It probably looks fake. However, I know the Capitol will see this. The sponsors will see this and I have to impress them. Starting now. I have to seem confident.

Mardy finally spots me as I walk down the aisle towards the stage. He gestures to me and says something that I don't quite hear. I'm still temporarily deaf. My eyes are watering but I know I shouldn't cry. I blink them away, still walking towards the stage.

One of two Peacekeepers steps forward and offers me a hand, helping me up the stairs to the stage. I can feel my legs trembling, but I know I need to push forward. I draw in a deep breath through my nose and smile a bit wider. I know my eyes are watering, but maybe I can manage to salvage some sort of confident appearance.

There's a camera in front of the stage that whirs as it zeroes in on me. I give it a nod and acknowledging wave.

Something grabs my wrist and I fight the urge to jump. I look to my right and see Mardy smiling at me. He raises my hand in the air.

"Give Mags Flanagan a hand, everybody!" he requests.

A halfhearted applause comes from the audience. I manage to spot Amdra. She is gawking at me, blinking in astonishment. I wish it was her, then curse myself for desiring such a thing. This is my burden. Not hers. It's happened. It's done. Amdra won't be lost. We were never great friends, but somehow I can't bring myself to genuinely wish this on anyone.

I want to find my family, but I can't bring myself to look. I know if I see them, I'll just start bawling. I can't afford that. Not now. Not during such a pivotal part of the Games. First impressions are important and though often incorrect, people will judge you by them.

My hand falls and Mardy gives me a warm pat on the back.

"Let's find out who our male tribute is," he says, strolling towards the bowl of boy names.

He dips his hand in, my eyes graze the crowd of boys and men. Who will it be? A child? A fourteen year old? An eighteen year old? Who will I be up against? Who will I have to betray? Will I have even met them?

My eyes land on the Odair boy. His jaw is set and his brows are furrowed as he looks up at me. I take a moment to memorize his face. The signature good looks of all the Odairs. His messy bronze hair and smoldering, blue green eyes. I suddenly find myself regretting not going on a date with him. I should have gone on at least one date before I died. Now, I'll never have the chance.

I should have made more friends too. I really only had Hook. That's all I felt like I needed.

"Our male tribute is Rip Mendel!"

I wrack my brain, trying to put a face to the name and quickly give up as young man exits into the aisle.

His hands are clenched at his sides and his head is down. Not at all good impression. I try not to frown. I know this is good for me as far as sponsors go, but I can't help but take pity on Rip. I'd met him a handful of times. He's two years younger than me and always tripping over his own feet. I'd lent him a pencil once and picked up his books on two different occasions.

When he arrives onstage Mardy raises his hand skyward. Though a rough applause erupts, Rip still looks devastated. His dark hair hanging in his green eyes. Eyes that are lifeless, yet still flicker with something I can't quite make out. It looks like he's expecting something.

Then I realize what he's waiting for. The last chance. The volunteers.

"Now, do we have any volunteers for Mags Flanagan?" Mardy asks.

I can't help but raise my brows, but no one says a word. Of course not. My stomach flips even though I knew this was coming. Silence lingers in the air before Mardy even begins to call it. It's almost humiliating.

"Once? Twice? Congratulations, Mags!" Mardy smiles. "You are representing District Four!"

I nod at him, still trying to smile. Still fighting the urge to locate my parents in the sea of now relieved families. Relieved it isn't their loved one. Just me.

"Do we have any volunteers for Rip Mendel?"

And almost immediately…

"I volunteer!"

Out of the crowd steps a young man, probably almost eighteen years of age. His hair is neat and a sun-kissed blonde. He's beefy and seems far too muscular for his age. More muscular than Hook even. Judging by his crisp, white shirt and shiny shoes, he's a city boy. I can't put a name to his face, but I know who he is.

He is my opponent. He is who I lose to.

Rip sighs so loudly I wonder if the whole of District Four heard it.

The large boy steps on stage and briefly shakes Rip's handle.

"I'm sorry, Rip, but rules are rules…" Mardy trails off as Rip scurries off the stage.

Not even waiting for the formal _'You will be given first preference next year should you volunteer against another District Four, male candidate.'_ Mardy probably realizes that that will never happen. Rip would never volunteer.

"And who are you, sir?" Mardy asks holding the mic up to the new tribute.

"Whytt Algirdas," he grins.

Man that smile. It screams confidence. I bet he already has eight sponsors lined up, just waiting for him. He's handsome and self-assured and a volunteer. Their money is on him. Definitely not me.

"Well, Whytt Algirdas, congratulations on being District Four's male tribute," Mardy beams.

"It's truly an honor."

He turns to me and extends his hand. I take it, trying to match his smile. I feel the large and meaty texture of his hand. How would I even slap someone whose whole hand covers mine? Who looks like two of me. He's got to be at least one hundred pounds of pure muscle.

Then Whytt raises both our hands, his is bent slightly since I can't reach as high as him.

"Ladies and gentleman, I give you District Four's Tributes for the Eleventh Annual Hunger Games, Mags Flanagan and Whytt Algirdas!"

After another brief applause, we are taken back to the Hall of Justice and separated into different rooms.

I see Tressa Scrymgeour and Miles Delessio and try not to gasp. I hadn't even noticed they were there when my name was drawn. Had they been there or have they been hiding back here the whole time? I know I would want to hide…

Our mentors. Both of them are grimacing. They mumble something to one another. Tressa laughs and rolls her eyes. We meet each other's eyes. Tressa gives me a nod of recognition and a thumbs up as the Peacekeepers continue to usher me down the hall. Mardy jumps backstage and loosens his shiny, bow tie. His enthusiastic expression is gone and replaced with one of exhaustion.

"Thank God, we're finished there."

He sounds completely different. More authentic even with his aristocratic accent.

We arrive at a door and one of the two Peacekeepers opens the it for me.

"Who are your two selected, visiting parties? No more than three per party, excluding family members," asks one Peacekeepers.

I suddenly forget every name I've ever known. Who do I know? Who are my friends?

"My immediate family… um…and the other party…Amdra Damslay and…Hal Odair," I reply.

The Peacekeepers shut me inside and disappear wordlessly.

The room is all grey brick and stone with a red leather sofa and two matching armchairs. I take a seat in the chair, my legs numb. Portraits adorn the walls, rather than windows. They're of the city's council and one of the Mayor who I will be seeing shortly.

I'm breathing deeply, waiting for my first visitor. Contemplating why I don't have more friends. If I make it through this-unlikely-I'll have to make more friends.

The door opens to reveal Mayor Renlock and his wife. They walk arm and arm towards me. I quickly stand from the couch and extend my hand to him. Mayor Renlock and his soft spoken wife are good people, always striving to make sure that District Four isn't forgotten. Not like Districts Ten through Twelve. The Renlock's are both relatively young which has made a lot of people doubt them, but over the years our Mayor has proved himself to be a benevolent and brave leader.

He even started a fund to help the family's that lost their children to the Hunger Games. Money to give them time to grieve before returning to work.

Mayor Renlock shakes my hand.

"How are you, Miss Flanagan?" he asks, brows knitting together.

"Disoriented. Afraid," I blurt.

"So you're not stupid," adds Mayor Renlock with a soft smile. "That's good."

His beautiful wife mirrors his expression, but there's something more maternal in her gaze. Rumor has it that they are trying to have children but can't. Perhaps that's the reason behind their constantly nurturing nature. I find myself feeling bad for them. Then I'm back to being nervous.

"Rest assured, Miss Flanagan, that should you not return your family will benefit from the Consolation and Grief Fund."

I nod as the reality that I will probably not make it back begins to sink in deeper and deeper. I believe Mayor Renlock realizes this because suddenly he is holding me at arm's length, making very purposeful eye contact.

"You look as though all hope is lost, Miss Flanagan. That isn't so. There is always hope," he says in a calm voice.

I nod at him, swallowing the lump in my throat. He stands up straighter and I notice his wife eyeing me tearfully. She suddenly takes three long strides and is standing in front of me. Mayor Renlock steps back and watches us.

"Mags, listen to my husband. Hold onto hope. The second you give up, all is lost. Until then you have a fighting chance, darling. Until then, you are alive."

My eyes widen slightly. I have never heard Mrs. Renlock speak this much. Normally she stands beside her husband with a dutiful expression. Other times she is writing fiercely in a notebook. I've seen her read to the children and help with charity work, but the vivacity in her speech now is foreign. It definitely helps my confidence level.

From the inside of his suit jacket, Mayor Renlock removes a shiny, pink seashell. He holds it out to me.

"Your token, Miss Flanagan."

I nod and accept it. My thumb strokes the soft surface.

There's three solid knocks on the door. The Peacekeepers have returned. Here to retrieve the Mayor and send him over to Whytt. The Renlock's shake my hand once more.

"May the odds be ever in your favor, Mags," says Mayor Renlock before he exits.

Mrs. Renlock glances at me over her shoulder and follows after her husband.

I exhale and pace slowly, waiting for my next visitors. A tear falls down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away then look down to the seashell in my hands. I purse my lips and place it in my pocket. Is this the last time I'll ever touch a seashell?

I gasp as the door bursts open and in walks Amdra and Hal. Amdra looks confused and Hal glances are the room curiously.

"Why me, Mags?" asks Amdra, shrugging.

I swallow and shake my head, letting out a shuddering breath.

"I don't know. First names that came to mind, to be honest," I reply.

She places her hands on her hips and walks lazily towards me.

"Your good with a net and you know your way with a knife. That has to count for something. Honestly? I don't know any other advice to give other than…don't get killed."

I smirk.

"I'll bear that in mind, Amdra."

"And if you don't make it back-"

"Oh, I highly doubt that'll be the case."

I look over at Hal whose studying the photos on the wall. He turns his turquoise eyes to me and grins. I can't help but smile back, even though my lips are tightly pursed. He strides towards me and lifts my chin with the knuckle of his right hand.

"Chin up, Flanagan. It's not over yet."

"Things are about to get gross, aren't they?" Amdra groans walking to the sofa and collapsing.

I ignore her.

"It certainly feels like it's over," I retort exhaustedly.

Hal shakes his head, eyes boring into mine. I take in the plains of his symmetrical face and the way his lip quirks up on one side when he smiles. Hal's thumb strokes my cheekbone and his brows furrow.

"You're not gonna die. You're too charming to die. Too pretty," he remarks.

I snort at him and shake my head.

"I should have said yes to you at least one of those times you asked me out. You must have asked me twenty times…"

"Thirty four if you count the subtle ones," he winks. "You can say yes next time, Mags."

I roll my eyes at him, folding my arms.

"Next time? I think we both know-"

His lips are gently pressed to mine. I would be lying if I said I'd kissed a boy before. I never really felt the need to. Boys weren't high on my list. Not until after I was done being reaped was what I had vowed. Many others our age felt the same. Excluding Hal. Still, this is my first and probably last kiss. It's a good one. There's something kind about it. Something compassionate.

He pulls away after a few more seconds. I hear Amdra scoff.

"That was sweet," she drawls.

Hal's eyes don't leave mine despite her annoyed reaction.

"Promise you'll say yes when you get back, Mags?" he requests, raising his an eyebrow.

I nod at him, my eyes are watering but there's a smile on my face.

Three sharp raps on the door. Hals rolls his eyes and Amdra springs off the couch.

"You'll be fine, Flanagan. Trust me," Hal grins reassuringly.

Amdra nods as they reach the door. She offers me a wave and grim smile.

"Don't forget about those net and knife skills, Mags," she adds.

They leave together and a few more tears stream down my face. I wipe them away quickly and roll my eyes, wringing my hands at my sides. I don't want to cry. Once I start, I won't be able to stop. I know it. That's just the way I've always operated. Now it's time to see my family. I can't cry in front of them. My mom will lose it completely. Be inconsolable. I want to make this as easy as possible.

Then again…how easy is it to send your daughter off to her death?

The doors open and Hook walks in. We look at each other for a moment, unmoving. He strides towards me suddenly and wraps his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. He says nothing. Odd for Hook. He usually has the words. Almost as many as me. Still, this silence is comforting.

Then I hear the sobs of my mother. I pull away from Hook to see him brushing off a tear. He turns his back to me and runs a hand down his face. My mother throws herself at me, squeezing me tightly. Her fingers stroke my hair and she shakes her head.

"My baby girl. My baby girl. My baby girl," she cries.

I manage to escape her grasp. My hands hold her face.

"I love you, mom. Please have a little faith in me," I smile.

My vision blurs from tears as I acknowledge the wetness of my mother's cheeks, the downturned corners of her lips. She nods at me.

"I have faith in you. I do."

"You're gonna see me again. I promise," I say seriously.

It's not a lie. Sure, I may be a corpse when this happens, but anything I can say to calm my mother the better. I kiss her cheek gently and turn to my father. His jaw is set and his eyes look like mine. Tear-filled but holding them back as tightly as possible.

"Mags, I-I…I don't know what to say," he shrugs.

I shrug back. He approaches me and pulls me into a hug so tight, I can barely breathe. I feel a tear fall on my forehead. He's finally crying. It must be okay for me to as well. I allow a few tears to escape and take in the scent of my father. The mixture of cologne and salty, sea air. I memorize the warm feeling of his arms.

More and more arms wrap around me. No one says a word for the first time in the history of our family. Everyone is dead silent. Multiple kisses touch the top of my head. It's probably been about ten seconds but it feels like much longer before we all separate. My family eyes me. Hook is solemn. My mother is distraught. My father's face is expressionless.

"Win, Mags. Win," Hook says in a gruff voice.

"You can do it. I know you can," adds my father.

My mother merely nods.

"Listen to the mentors. Don't challenge anyone bigger than you. Be smart."

Hook's words make sense, but I still tremble with fear. Though his tasks are easy, they feel nearly impossible.

"Okay."

"I love you, Mags," sniffs Hook.

"I love you too."

My dad places a hand on my shoulder and kisses my cheek.

"We'll see you in a few weeks' time, Mags."

"I love you, darling," my mother sobs, embracing me once more.

There are three knocks on the door. This is the last time I see my parents. My brother.

Right?

My mother shrieks and clings to my father. He begins to walk her towards the door as she cries something unintelligible into his chest. They push through the doors. My brother looks over his shoulder at me.

"You still owe me an excuse token, Mags," he says with a forced smile.

I nod at him, returning the grin.

"Bye, Hook."

And he's gone.

Still, there's part of me, deep down that has the feeling I had that night when I was caught in the rip tide. I can't tell if it's good or bad. Is the feeling telling me that I'll live? Is it telling me the hope that I'm clinging to is useless?

I'll find out soon.


End file.
